


Calming Routine

by FalseProphet (Batmanthegroomer)



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers, Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Cybertron Realized, Transformers: More than Meets the Eye
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-13
Updated: 2013-04-13
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/758986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batmanthegroomer/pseuds/FalseProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyclonus is interrupted while meditating...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calming Routine

**Author's Note:**

> Cyclonus and Drift drabble for evilhasnever on Tumblr.
> 
> Time Period: Post War, months after the launch of the Lost Light.

Cyclonus was not sure if it was his own engine or the ship’s which hitched slightly and pulled him out of deep meditation. Either way he was slightly aggravated.

He opened his vents purposefully to hiss out hot air. He tilted his helm and froze. He was not alone. Another someone was in the observatory. Someone had managed to sneak up on Cyclonus.

His helm turned left and his brightening optics fell on the intruder…

Drift.

Cyclonus felt his engine growl. He could almost see the smug smirk on that white faceplate. A smirk which told Cyclonus the swordsmech was perfectly aware of the sanctity of the ritual he had joined. He was also damned proud of himself.

Drift’s optics remained powered down but a soft rumble indicated he was not as deep into meditation as he pretended to be.

Cyclonus’ mouth dropped open slightly at the clear bragging. He returned his own gaze forward and revved his own engine just a touch louder.

Drift’s optics powered up dimly. Had Cyclonus just…? Oh, that was a challenge. Drift rolled his engine once more, louder still.

“Do you mind?” Cyclonus hissed. “You’ve already interrupted me. Do not aggravate me further.”

“Sorry it’s… Part of my routine.” Drift turned to look at Cyclonus. The flier’s red optics were steady on him.

“Rolling your engine like a pre-alt mode child is part of your calming routine?”

“I’m letting the power roll through me in order to better understand how to direct its flow.”

“That’s a load of circuit discharge.” Cyclonus grumbled, moving to his peds. He had intended to leave but upon rising he heard a chuckle rise up from the ex-Decepticon. He narrowed his optic scope.

Usually he would have let it slide. On most days he would have ignored it and walked away. It was clearly meant to get under his plating and under normal circumstances he could let it be. But today was not “normal”. He was running on very little recharge and in spite of what he tried to tell himself he felt guilty about how he had treated Tailgate the night prior.

“Then let’s see if it’s working.” Cyclonus growled low. He sunk into a familiar stance from an archaic fighting style. It was older, perhaps, than the discipline Drift was used to but the styles were related enough.

Drift turned to glance over his pauldren and was taken aback. Cyclonus had adopted a ready stance. The flier was initiating a spar. Drift was not about to give up the opportunity to see what the older mech could do.

Drift stood slowly, placed his swords calmly on the floor behind himself, and dropped into a likewise stance.

Both mechs curved their spinal struts slightly. They were light on their peds, fluids gathering and swirling throughout the entire array behind their patella—just itching to bend and snap and move. They swayed slightly as their optics sized up weak points. Arms and fists flat like blades at the ready hoovered near their faceplates. Vents opened but cycled quietly, quickly, pulling in and storing cool air where it was most necessary.

Cyclonus felt his core lurch as Drift made the first move. The white mech had barely a tell as he launched forward. His moves were calculated and testing. Neither mech had ever fought face-to-face with the other and therefore both were on unsteady ground.

Cyclonus swung to the side as Drift slipped passed and was ready when Drift feigned at the last second. The clanging of wrist-to-wrist was jarring to their audios as the room had been so quiet.

They danced in a circle, ped over ped, wrists locked and optics focused. Drift sprung back in time to avoid the brunt of a blow to the chest. Cyclonus’ fingers just skimmed the surface of his chest plating.

Cyclonus advanced like lightning as Drift skidded backwards. He slashed at the white mech over and over, hands like blades slicing at the air rapidly. What Drift could not block he accepted with a warrior’s grace, barely making a noise.

Cyclonus found himself caught off-guard as Drift turned on the offense. The white mech opted to take a blow full to the sternum and threw out an arm. Cyclonus felt the fingers at his shoulder joint far too late and his left arm was temporarily rendered useless.

Drift advanced on Cyclonus as the purple mech lowered his stance and prepared to retreat for the time being. Cyclonus’ advance had been quick with sharp blows falling one after the other, Drift preferred to go in slow and land fewer but more powerful blows.

Cyclonus lifted his only functioning arm and blocked a blow aimed at his helm. He admitted silently that he was impressed by the force behind Drift’s two armed attack.

Drift swung his arms down and away, aimed now at Cyclonus’ side. He was stunned when he realized Cyclonus knew what was coming, but made no attempt to stop it.

Cyclonus ground his dental plates together as Drift’s conjoined hands soared through the air towards his mid-section. He prepared his body, and used the force of the blow coupled with his thrusters—powered up for merely a second—to flip himself over Drift’s arms.

Drift attempted to scuttle backwards but he could not dodge both peds aimed at his helm. He hissed out a jet of air as Cyclonus’ ankles locked on either side of his helm.

The mechs fell into a pile of tangled limbs and hissing vents. Cyclonus attempted to lift himself to maintain the upper hand but his numbed left arm left him vulnerable just long enough. Drift took his opening and grabbed the purple mech’s only working arm.

As Drift pulled up to put strain on Cyclonus’ arm, the flier lifted his ped, twisted slightly and kicked out. He pressed his thruster to Drift’s mid-section and let his engines hum a warning.

The duo locked optics… then slowly they both smirked.


End file.
